Muma
by TheDuchessofFiction
Summary: Killian and Emma rarely get any sleep. Not because of illect activities, but because of one stubborn child.


**Written as a present for montanarosalie for CSSS. Hope you enjoy!**

"Get up." Emma mumbled sleepily, rolling over with her eyes barely cracked open as she snatched the monitor emitting the offensive sound, her button down shirt flinging open to reveal one slightly larger than usual breast.

The plastic white machine hit the man's face, who was attempting to stay sleeping covering his face with a pillow, which the machine hit instead of his mischievously handsome face that only looked exhausted now.

"Emmaaaa." He whined, turning over to face away from his fiancé. "I bet he's hungry."

"I just fed him an hour ago!" She snapped, the silver ring flashed in his face as she waved the monitor at him. "Your turn!"

And with that the woman turned over, defining that this was indeed a closed matter, just as he rolled over to protest.

He really couldn't blame her. Emma got less sleep than everyone else in the whole town, not because of her job, but because of her child's temperament. Running his hands through his ebony hair, he picked up the monitor, slid out of the warm bed and disregarded the chill.

And yet she still did so much. Magic was one of the things that was starting to occupy her time more than ever.

He didn't pause to see the appendage he was still getting used to having, a fruit of Emma's labored, merely knowing the hand was there was strange enough as he slid out the door and followed the sounds of feeble cries down the hall to the door.

The nursery was illuminated by the warm golden light of a lamp, with a shade of a simple blue, matching the man—and the child's eyes.

He squalled in a crib, painted a cheerful eggshell white, and carved with intricate designs by his father's own hands. The babe's own hands raised high as he cried, though he stopped the moment one small fist came in contact with the much larger hand.

The baby was only quiet for a second before beginning to fuss again, much quieter than the ear splitting wails that had kept his mother and father up nearly every night for the past 6 months.

Gathering his son in his arms, carefully placing the boy on his shoulder before starting to pace the room, the infant's hand found his hair almost immediately.

Since the day he was born, the former villain couldn't quite believe what everyone had told him. That there was a miniature Hook and such as was the talk whenever the family went out. It was true, Liam bore little resemblance to his mother, other than the chin that came from Snow. But behind the jet black tuft of hair, the clear blue eyes, and sharp nose that Killian secretly resented, he was already beginning to see so much of his True Love in the boy.

In fickleness for one.

Killian had assumed the baby was asleep as the vice-like grip on his hair loosened and he moved to the crib to put him back to bed, his thoughts already drifting back to Emma and their bedroom.

And Liam started to babble. Not just the usual sounds that he made, but the attempted formation of letters, words.

He had been trying to talk for days, with an over-excitable family who kept trying to get the stubborn little boy to say what they wanted first. He would clam up however the moment he got close to saying anything. Meaning when Mary-Margaret pulled out the video camera and pointed the offensive lenses at the baby.

However, they weren't here right now, Killian thought, grinning down at the mop of hair muttering phrases that made no sense into his chest, his little fist tugging at the material of his tshirt.

"Alright Liam. Say 'papa.'" Killian coaxed, sitting the babe out on a blanket spread on the floor and kneeling beside him. The child just frowned continuing to babble an odd collection of noises and consonants, and pointed to the shelf where he kept his toys, ignoring his father entirely.

To be more specific, the toy Jolly Roger.

The ship was far to be a toy, it being about as tall as the child himself, yet it had been a present from the Dwarves and well... Killian loved it as much as Emma worried about its hazards.

"See Liam? Dada's ship." Killian said, switching tactics to something similar to Emma's repeated 'mommy' and 'mama.' According to her, it was easiest for a child to say one simple syllable. He cradled the ship, taking it from the shelf, and gently setting it on the floor, running his hand over the wood with a soft smile. "Can you say Dada?"

And stubbornness was the other trait he swore came from Emma. And Mary-Margaret swore came from David.

The child shook his head instead jabbing his hand into the brig of the ship. And his father groaned running his hand through his already bed-headed hair.

There was no way in hell he was giving up. Just minutes before he would have liked nothing better than to fall asleep.

But the Captain could never resist a game he knew he could win.

He must have fallen asleep in the damn nursery again, Emma thought finding the other side of the bed empty and feeling slightly guilty. Granted she had just gotten 5 hours of sleep she had a right to.

Frowning, she stared at the monitor for several seconds, blinking at the red light as if waiting for the wail, yet hearing none, she looked at the clock.

9:00.

Wow. He never slept this late.

Throwing off her side of the blankets, the chilly air nipped at her bare skin, reminding Emma of her utter neglect to button up the shirt last night, after nursing her child. She briefly searched through the sheets, finding one of her missing pinks socks and shoving it onto her foot before padding out of the bedroom and creeping down the hall.

"Liammmm." Killian groaned, then a giggle came from the nursery. Emma peeked through the crack in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

Her son stared up at his father with impressive resolve, shaking his head as the man lay on his stomach, his face resting on his hands with deep purple bags under his eyes.

"Say Dada." The Captain repeated. The child pushed the Jolly Roger instead, each time it rolled across the sea blue carpet he gave a squeal of delight and clapped his hands.

Emma laughed softly, opening the door fully. Killian snapped his head around, and glared at her.

"Have you been up all night with him?" She laughed, walking through the entryway.

The baby turned as well, a smile already gracing his face, however the moment he spotted his mother his whole countenance lit up, and he started bouncing on the backs of his knees, chubby palms reaching up.

"Muma!" He cried, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. Emma gasp, yet Liam prattled on. "Muma, muma, ma."

Sweeping her son up in her arms, she kissed the top of his head, the word music to her ears as the child kept delightedly saying it.

"Is this what you and Daddy's have been doing at night?" Emma laughs, holding the baby to her chest, feeling his hands tangle themselves in her messy blonde curls. "Are we talking now?"

"Ma." He said, waving the curl he was holding onto, before burying his face in her breast. "Ma."

She sighed, and started to unbutton her shirt and sitting in the cushy rocking chair in the corner.

Killian slightly pouted, looking at his true love and child sitting in the rocking chair, feeling slightly miffed that the boy had wasted his hard work on saying _his title _and instead, without any effort, he said a derivative of mother.

He couldn't deny that it wasn't adorable, the child's first word. And Emma deserved it, as the baby didn't bear any mark of her on him, yet she had carried him for three quarters of the year.

And had never even seen any of her first's firsts.

The man slipped out of the room, the sleep already fogging over his eyes as he hastened towards the kitchen in desperate search of something to keep him awake long enough to actually get to work.

Liam was a noisy eater, Emma thought smiling at his head and planting a kiss on it, getting up still holding him her breast as she left the room, entering the kitchen where Killian was tearing through the cabinet above the coffeemaker.

She giggled watching the pirate, who had somehow gotten addicted to the stuff from the late night shift at the station with David. Unlike the rest of the family's obsession with hot chocolate (and cinnamon), her father firmly stayed with the thick brew as his drug of choice.

The ancient coffeemaker rattled as the liquid spewed out of tip, turning the infant's attention away from his breakfast and to his father's recent addiction.

Rum was no longer allowed, at least in the house.

Last Christmas had been interesting, Emma had to give David and Hook credit. But a duel on ice was a little, ok extremely absurd.

"Do you want me to come in today?" Emma asked hesitantly, setting the baby down the high chair, strategically positioned out of the way, but close enough to view all the action.

She hadn't been working. It felt odd, to have just stepped down from the title of Sheriff and sit at home. Yet, she wasn't getting any work done anyways, considering both the bump and her deputies smothering and coddling her.

Emma missed it, but there was something about staying at home with her baby that was both satisfied and disgustingly wonderfully domestic. At least she didn't miss a second of Liam's life.

The child was grossly over-parented, in everyone's opinion.

Her other child stumbled down the stairs, now just another sleep-deprived teenager, yawning and shoving a sweatshirt over his head.

"Hey Mom." He muttered, pushing back the blonde who was stubbornly trying to wipe a mess off her younger's face. "Ready to go?"

The tradition of breakfast at Granny's had still proliferated, yet Emma still shot Henry a look, pausing in her vigorous wiping, glancing down at her pajamas.

She sighed, picking up the cooing child and walking back to the bedroom, where Killian was facing away from her tugging on a pair of jeans.

Sitting Liam on the bed, she snatched a transparent white blouse and a pair of jeans from the closet and pulled them on, to find Killian again struggling with modern clothes, this time a button down shirt.

Rolling her eyes, she swung the baby into her eyes, with his indignant cry of "Mu!" as she carried him back to his room, pulling out a set of dark denim overalls and a white sweater, which the child frowned at and made a briefly fussy noise as she pulled it over his head.

Liam did not like sweaters. Continuing to pout, she changed his diaper and slipped the overalls on. Next came a pair of nubby socks, to keep him from slipping whenever he crawled off from her as she worked on transferring Storybrooke's ancient files online, a small part-time job that still made her feel like she was part of the police force.

"Killian, get the stroller!" She yelled, hearing the pirate stomp down the hall in the sound leather boots that he still kept from his pirate days. He didn't huff, surprisingly, though she doubted that he had forgotten about this son's earlier show of favoritism.

Putting a hat on her little boy's head, she grabbed his coat as well, holding his and hers in one arm and the squirming baby in the other.

He was wearing leather. Jacket, not a coat.

"Killian, put on a coat." She ordered, half pushing him away from the front of the stroller in order to buckle the child into it, earning her a protesting shout as she tugged his coat on as well.

"Mu!" He said, shaking his head and waving his arms.

"I can't carry you anymore baby. And it's cold." She said, throwing on her coat and pulling open the door. "Boys, let's go!" She yelled behind her, maneuvering the stroller out onto the sidewalk as the Captain stumbled out the door, still trying to pin his badge to the leather jacket and the teenager, hoisting a heavy backpack onto one shoulder.

The walk to Granny's was brief, even through freshly fallen snow, though not without the usual interruptions of Henry having to give his little brother the morning commentary.

Which was the nice word of gossip.

He immediately stopped when they walked into the diner, the warm air and scent of evergreen assaulting their senses.

Ruby had to be happy, given the explosion of her favorite color coupled with a smidge of green.

Henry and Killian grumpily sat in their usual booth, empty of the usual suspects (Mary-Margaret and David) and Emma parked the running stroller outside of the diner, unbuckled the child and swung him up on her hip, grabbing the diaper bag with her other arm.

His hands latched onto her hair as she struggled with the door. Then a hand reached around her and opened it for me.

"Morning Emma." Her father stated with a grin and a quick kiss on his daughter's head. "Your highness." He addressed the baby with a comical bow.

"Oy! He's a pirate not a prince!" Killian shouted good naturedly from across the diner. David just rolled his eyes, sliding into the booth beside his other grandson.

"Goodness gracious, he's both for the last time." Mary-Margaret calmly mediated, sitting next to her husband and planting a passionate kiss on his lips, before shaking the white snow out of her dark pixie cut."Isn't that right Liam?"

"Muma!" He replied to his grandmother, bouncing of his mother's lap and yanking a lock of blonde hair down. Mary-Margaret gasps and as quick as any one of the family could draw a sword, she whipped out the video camera.

"Alright Liam, say it again." She said, training the lense on the boy.

He just shook his head.

Inwardly, Killian laughed all the way to the station. The child was going to be the death of all of them one day.

**Review?**


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